Absolutely Normal Chaos
by Amara2
Summary: Yeah, Sharon Creech's title there. I'll think of a more suitable one later. Anyway, what if Harry had gone on with his dull and depressing life and gone to Stonewall High instead of Hogwarts? Before you say "Boring!" read this!!!!!
1. Part One

Absolutely Normal Chaos

Chapters One—Four

by Amara.

A/N: Yes, there IS a plot to this. It comes a bit later. I was just wondering...what if Harry _hadn't_ gotten his letter from Hogwarts? What if Hagrid _hadn't_ told Harry that he was a wizard? What if he'd gone on with his dull and depressing life and gone to Stonewall High....go ahead, say it: BO-RING! But, what if some other students hadn't gone to Hogwarts either? What if their records are scrambled, their magical quill defective? Yes, the magical world as we know it is in jeopardy. For three years now, it's been sending invitations to the wrong people, forgettting the right people, or simply not sending any letters at all. Imagine, now, what would consequently happen...no Harry to prevent Quirrel from presenting the Philosopher's Stone to his master, a big lot of muggles at Hogwarts with nowhere to go, dozens of wizards angrily crying out that their children had been forgotten...and hundreds of muggle-borns ignored, to become boring and ordinary like everyone else they know. *sigh*...yes, I know, I've got to find a way to make Harry and....a certain someone else.....realize that they're magical, because otherwise who will save the day?

Well, enjoy. And if you wish I could have written a better plot right away, I merely say: _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus _(you jerk).

CHAPTER ONE. Gray.

"Wake up! You don't want to be late for your first day of school! Up!" Aunt Petunia's voice screeched through the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Fumbling for his glasses, Harry pulled back the sheets and caught a glimpse of Aunt Petunia's sharp noise through the grill in the door. Slipping into the baggy gray potato sack that was supposed to pass for a school uniform (after pulling several spiders off of it), he stepped into the kitchen, squinting his eyes against the sunlight. Uncle Vernon was sitting at the table reading a newspaper.

   "Bring me my coffee, boy!"

   "Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry mumbled, reaching for the coffeepot and burning his hand. With a yelp he jumped back. Uncle Vernon grunted. Harry poured the coffee.

   "Where's Dudley?" he asked. Aunt Petunia pursed her lips.

   "We've driven him to his academy already. Now hurry up, or you'll miss your bus! Don't think we'll _drive_ you to school, boy!"

   It was a silent, uncomfortable breakfast: Harry chewed on a piece of toast, Uncle Vernon grunted as he read the newspaper, Aunt Petunia checked her watch every thirty seconds with a sour face. When he finished with his toast, Harry slung his schoolbag over his shoulder and, not knowing what to do, timidly said, "'Bye." They didn't say anything, so he walked outside. A gust of cold air hit his face as soon as he stepped onto the porch. Wrapping his scarf more tightly around his neck, he walked slowly down the road to his bus stop. The sky was barely tinged with pink. He grinned as he thought of Dudley, waking up at 5 A.M. for the rest of the year. Sticking his hands in his pocket to keep them warm, he waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, a rumbling came around the corner told him the bus had decided to show up (a/n: _are_ there school buses in England?...). The foggy glass doors opened, and he stepped onto the bus and into his new life.

   The bus driver glanced at him uninterestedly and shut the door behind him. It was an ominous sort of sound. Nervously, he walked down the aisle looking for a seat. Dull, empty faces stared at him from the sides, people of no particular sex in their smart gray uniforms, simply waiting for another schoolday to start. They didn't look remotely excited to begin their school year. Harry found a seat next to a likely-looking person: a boy of about his age, with dreadlocks.

   "Er...can I...can I sit down here?" he asked. The boy just stared at him blankly. Harry sat down. The seat was at the very back, so when the bus rolled down the road once more, he jounced up and down in his seat. It was most uncomfortable.

   A few more blank-faced people in gray uniforms got on, and the bus stopped. Wiping a circle in the misty window, he saw a large mouldy-looking brick building. Next to it was a much nicer building, with a neatly printed sign that said in calligraphy, _Maris Academy for Girls._ He stared. He had been quite sure that Stonewall High admitted all sexes, and that it had, in fact, been called 'Stonewall High.' Then he realized that the faceless people were getting off of the bus. He followed them into the mouldy-looking building and realized that this was Stonewall High.

   An enormous mass of people in dull gray uniforms were milling around in the hall, whispering and talking and even laughing a bit. They seemed a good bit more alive than the students on the bus had been. He joined them, nervously rolling up his baggy sleeves and hoping he didn't look like he was wearing old elephant skin. Through the windows he could see other schoolbuses stopping. A mixed assortment of Stonewall students and girls wearing dark maroon and navy uniforms got off of them, the girls going into the much nicer neighboring building. 

   "Attention! Attention, all students!" Suddenly, there was an empty circle in the center of the congregating students, and a stern-looking woman stood in the middle of the circle, holding a bullhorn up to her mouth. "You will note that the rooms are numbered: our school consists of three floors, and six halls. On the first floor, A and B halls. On the second floor, C and D halls. On the third floor, E and F halls. The rooms are numbered accordingly. If your name begins with the letter 'A,' please report to..." She read off a long list of names, and gray-clad students of varying heights walked off in different directions. When 'P' was called, Harry wondered what to do when he noticed a group of people walking to the stairwell. Running to catch up, he walked with them up the stairs to the third floor. Through the hallway, and to their classroom. Inside, a man wearing long, pinstriped pants and a pinstriped blazer was taking roll in a dull voice. He looked as though he were wearing his pyjamas. Harry quickly took a seat with everyone else. With no change of expression, the teacher finished roll and put the list down on his desk. Harry's hand went up and the teacher stared at him.

   "S...sorry," said Harry, trying to find his voice, "but...you didn't call my name."

   "Well, what is your name?" said the teacher in a voice that plainly said: I've never been wrong.

   "Potter. Harry Potter." The man scanned the list.

   "I'm sorry, your name isn't on the list, Mr. _Potter_." Harry gulped. Everyone was staring at him. The teacher continued.

   "Perhaps you should see the main office. It's on the second floor, between rooms 5C and 6C."

   Harry nervously got up and swung his schoolbag over his shoulder. Over his shoulder, he saw the class and the teacher staring after him before he walked into the hallway. Down the stairwell, to the second floor. As room after room passed him, he looked up on the walls. Grim-looking portraits hung above the lockers (which were a sea-green color) of past principals and administrators. The carpet was a dirty gray color, like almost everything else in the school. Here and there a student was opening their locker, and stared at him as he walked by. Quickening his pace, he reached the office. A sign on the door said:

MAIN OFFICE

~

Principal M. Shuffleburger

   He pushed the door open hesitantly. Inside, several important-looking people were on the phone, typing furiously on computers.

   "Ex—excuse me?" One of them paused, annoyed, and said, "What?" impatiently.

   "I—my name's not on the roll," he explained. The woman he said this to looked exasperated.

   "Well, don't tell _us,_ then, tell Mr. Shuffleburger, he'll sort out trivial problems like that," she said, pointing at a frosted glass window, which belonged to a polished wooden door, which had a sign on it that said, "Principal Mauritius Shuffleburger."

   Inside, a chubby man with a flowery tie was doodling on a yellow notepad. He jumped when Harry walked in and chuckled. 

   "Hello, hello, haven't had a person in my office for months, besides the garbage-collector." He chuckled again and shook Harry's hand.

   "I...um...my name wasn't on the roll." The man's smile vanished.

   "Well, if you don't belong to this school, then that is a problem indeed." Harry wanted to tell him that he didn't belong anywhere, that the Dursleys had picked Stonewall High, that Privet Drive shouldn't have been his home, that he should have been swooped up by long-lost relatives a long time ago...

   "My name's Harry Potter, sir," he stammered. Putting on a tiny pair of spectacles, Principle Shuffleburger scanned the list.

   "No Potter on this list, no," he said. Harry felt a queasy sensation in his stomach.

   "Are you...are you sure?"

   "Yes, indeed, we've got Harry Abernathy, Harry Abel, Harry Batton, Harry Bellingham, Harry Crup, Harry Diddle, Harry Dursley, Harry—"

   "That's me!" Harry interrupted. "Harry Dursley!" The principal looked at him severely.

   "You quite clearly stated that your name was Harry _Potter_. Do you know, lying will get you—"

   "I live with my aunt and uncle," Harry explained, "my parents died in a car crash when I was little, and I came to live with them." Principal Shuffleburger's cheery blue eyes searched Harry's green ones for honesty, and finally tore away.

   "All right, then, Mr. Potter—er, Mr. Dursley. You're registered as Harry Dursley here, so mind you use that name. Goodbye then."

   Walking down the halls to the stairwell, he thought about his meeting with Principal Shuffleburger. Somehow, the thought that the Dursleys had registered him under their name wasn't very comforting. It just brought him closer to the Dursleys: he had insisted on the name Potter, and the Dursleys had not objected, all his life because it was one more thing to separate him from his horrible relatives. Now, while nobody would know the difference, he wouldn't be Harry Potter anymore. Just...Harry Dursley.

   He suddenly realized that he didn't know where to go now. Oh, well, he thought, at least Dudley wasn't around anymore...

CHAPTER TWO. Mystery Girl.

It had been about a month into the term. Harry had learned that Maris Academy for Girls, the school that shared the campus with Stonewall, was an ancient rival. The girls were smarter, better-looking, sportier, and superior (according to the envious girls of Stonewall) and, according to the boys, unbearably annoying. Harry now sat down with a group of friends at lunch every day, instead of finding a lonely corner to eat in. He could now tell the difference between most of the gray uniforms moving about the hallways. Like the other students, he was also bored stupid by their teachers.

   One day, in mathematics, Mr. Butler was droning on about all the fascinating ways to use a protractor, and demonstrating for them with a giant cardboard protractor painted a garish pink. He seemed very much taken with his subject. Harry rested his cheek on his palm and stared out the window. The sky was stormy gray outside. Across the field the Academy girls were having soccer tryouts. Harry had heard these, and all other sports tryouts, were mandatory: Maris Academy was very big on sports, especially since they had wiped the field with Stonewall Highschoolers for at least fifty years. He bemusedly watched the coach whistle on her metal whistle, very loudly if her red and puffy cheeks meant anything. She finally gave up and started shouting. He followed her gaze to a girl with bushy brown hair, sitting on the grass next to the bleachers and reading a book. She jumped up, startled, and walked reluctantly to the tryouts. In goalie-and-player pairs they tried out before the coach. First, the girl was a player, and the first time she kicked the ball she slipped and fell on her back. The girls snickered. The next time she kicked it too far and to the side of the goal. She jogged hopelessly to get it, cheeks glowing red. As a goalie, the first time the ball was kicked at her she covered her face and crouched. Harry saw the coach throw up her hands in exasperation. The girl trudged back to the bleachers, face burning with embarrassment, and immerse herself once again in her book. Harry shook his head and returned his gaze to the teacher, now enthusiastically demonstrating the way to draw an acute angle.

   At lunch every day he saw the bushy-haired girl sitting under a tree with a sack lunch scattered around her, an apple in hand and her nose in some formidable-looking book. She always stayed after the bell thirty or forty seconds, gathering her lunch with one groping hand and savoring the book for just a bit more before going back into the Academy building for class. He sometimes felt a bit sorry for her: she always seemed by herself, and half the Maris girls would giggle and whisper behind her. She didn't seem a bit regretful about not having very many friends, so he soon forgot about her.

   The first soccer game of the year arrived: the students poured onto the bleachers rosy-cheeked and excited. The Maris girls came with smug looks on their faces. The game began. Harry noticed that the Maris team consisted of tall, thin girls with fierce expressions, while the Stonewall team looked depressingly ragtag. He found a seat on the edge of the silver bleachers. Swinging his legs, Harry watched as the girls scored goal after goal. Quite suddenly, an irritable voice came out of nowhere and asked him to please stop. He fell right off of the edge of the bleachers in surprise. The voice had come from _underneath him_. Brushing himself off, he saw the girl with bushy brown hair sitting underneath the bleachers, at the very edge where sunlight filtered in, reading a thick book, her knees hugged to her chest.

   "What are you _doing _down here?" he asked in surprise. 

   "Reading, what else?" she snapped, waving her book in front of his nose (Darwin's Theory of Evolution). He stared at her.

   Not having anything much else to say, he said, rather stupidly, "You're supposed to be watching the soccer game, you know."

   "I don't care much for soccer," she replied, "and anyway _they'll—_" she jerked her head to a group of Academy girls watching her and giggling—"_they'll_ make fun of me."

   Harry shrugged and settled down on the grass next to her to watch the game. She continued to read.

CHAPTER THREE: In which Hermione discovers how cruel Academy Girls can be.

The next day the same group of girls taunted Hermione in the hallway: "Granger's got a boyfriend! Granger's got a boyrfriend!" She asked them impatiently what they were talking about.

   "_You_ know—the boy you spent the soccer game _talking_ to!" said one.

   "Oh, honestly! He just sat next to me and watched the stupid soccer game while I was reading!"  
   "Oh, how ro-man-tic!" the girls shouted ridiculously. She scowled and walked away from them as fast as she could.

   Harry saw the bushy-haired girl leaving lunch the next day, clutching her books, and he followed her. Tapping her on the back, he said, "Hi." She whirled around.

   "You!" she said furiously. "Don't even talk to me! It's your stupid fault that everyone's saying I have a _boyfriend_! Just go away!" And she left him standing there with his mouth hanging open.

CHAPTER  FOUR: Hermione's P.O.V.

God I hate this academy. All my life, I haven't cared whether people like me or not. Suddenly it feels like my life's been ruined, because of a stupid bunch of girls.

Why does this school have to be so sporty? Why do we have to try out for EVERYTHING? Stupid sports. Stupid soccer. Stupid coach, stupid academy, stupid boy...

   I was minding my own business, reading under the stands (okay, so I was supposed to be watching the 'big' soccer game, but who cares?) when _he_ started swinging his feet back and forth. I asked him quite politely to stop, and he nearly fell on top of me! Jeez. I didn't think I'd surprised him _that_ much. Then he had the nerve to ask me what I was doing under the stands, so I said, "Reading." Well, duh. What else could I have said? He saw the book in my hands. I'd seen him at lunch a couple of times, looking over at the empty table I sat at in an, "I-feel-kinda-sorry-for-her" sort of way. Sorry? For me? Ha! No other sixth grader has a 119% gradepoint average. Least of all a skinny, messy-haired boy with taped-up glasses. Sorry indeed!

   Ah, well, gotta go. Coach is calling (again);

        Hermione

A/N: NO, THIS IS NOT AN H/H STORY! Sorry, all you shippers, but they're only about eleven years old. I'm totally H/H *don't even TRY to convince me otherwise* but I'm tyring to do this as an exercise of plot, not romance.....yeah, so far, doing really bad with the whole 'plot' thing....but I'm working on it! Go bug me in the next few days and I'll write the next part. Please review! and tell me how awful I was!

P.S.-I'll think of a better title next time.

-Amara


	2. Part Two

ABSOLUTELY NORMAL CHAOS

By Amara

Chapter—oh, I dunno, I lost track—oh, yeah, Chapter Five: Um....what should I call it? You tell me.

A/N: Reviews! Reviews! AAAAAH! I love you guys! I actually got reviews! Well, don't let me down this time (and, to Claire: next chapter you'll get to know Harry's friends a little bit better, and I'll try to slip in the Dursleys....I'd love to see what Dudley's making of Smeltings and his six a.m. wake-up call *heeheehee*)

   "Together, Pythagoras and his—" Harry's hand rose shakily.

   "Er, Professor?"

   "—formed a group that met—"

   "Professor?" Mr. Butler paused, looking bored. "Yes, Mr. Dursley?" It took him a second to realize that the teacher was talking to him.

   "Can I, er, can I use the restroom?" Harry asked, blushing slightly. The class tittered.

   "Surely you can wait until after the film?" Mr. Butler said impatiently. Harry licked his lips and glanced at the clock.

   "Er, I, uh, I really need to, um, you know..." his voice trailed off. The professor looked at his watch.

   "Very well, then, you have five minutes," he said with narrowed eyes.

   Creeping out of the classroom, he felt very much relieved when he was in the hall, away from Mr. Butler's icy stare. Striding confidently now to the boy's restroom on the third floor, he checked his watch. 15 minutes to lunch. He hoped his friends remembered. 

He leaned against the tiled wall. A minute ticked by....another....and then the door opened.

   It was Jackson, grinning from ear to ear. Behind him were Rupert and Owen, looking shifty.

   "Took us a while to get away from Horse-Face Videll," Jackson said.

   "She wouldn't let us all go at once: Rupert had to fake being sick!" Ben crowed. Harry grinned. Without a word, they sneaked down the hall.

   Frank and George were the two janitors that reigned over the joint schools. It was their unpleasant duty to scrub the toilets, feed the furnaces, retrieve soccer balls from the school roofs, and mop the cafeteria floor. On the side the two also found time to feud endlessly. The students were well-accustomed to see the doddery old men point bony fingers at each other and yell (the Maris girls just sniffed and ignored them). They were constantly on the brink of all-out war. Harry and his friends had just decided to speed things up.

   So there they were, tiptoeing down the hall. Time was precious. They only had three minutes. They stopped in front of the Janitorial Closet, a plain, windowless door marked only with a nameplate that said "Frank W." and had rude words scribbled all around it in permanent marker. They'd seen Frank trying to scrub it off while glaring daggers at George, who had passed by chortling hoarsely. Checking to see that no one was watching, they creaked open the door. Inside, a tiny closet was covered in cobwebs and lit by a single, flickering lamp hanging from the ceiling. They closed the door behind them and got to work.

***thirty seconds later***

   "Oy, Harry, found anything yet?" Rupert called from his corner. 

   "Shh-hhh-hhhh."

   "Oooh, how about this?" Owen pulled himself from the janitorial cart where he'd been searching and held up a large bottle of liquid soap. Harry spotted Frank's rubber gloves hanging over the edge of the cart and grabbed them. Jackson giggled and poured the thick, creamy soap into the gloves. They snickered and pretended to be Frank when he put on his glove and found the surprise.

   "—ooh, I'll get you, George—"

   "—so immature!—"

   "—eek! What is this stuff, anyway?—"

   They were gasping and clutching their stomachs when the door opened.


	3. Part Three

ABSOLUTELY NORMAL CHAOS

By Amara.

Chapter Six.

   A slight girl stood framed in the doorway, dragging a mop and bucket behind her and trying to push her hair out of her eyes. All the boys had covered their eyes against the bright light, dazed and horrified, but a confused and annoyed Harry and a furious bushy-haired girl said, at the same time, "YOU!"

   She rounded on the boys. "_What_ are you doing here, are you trying to get me in _trouble_, _don't_ you know you aren't supposed to _be_ here, _don't_ you have _any _regard for the RULES?" Harry leapt forward and shut the door, whispering savagely, "Don't go shouting it about, what's the matter with you, you'll get us into trouble!" She pursed her lips and crossed her arms across her chest. 

   "Aw, come on, you won't tell on us, will you?" laughed -----. There was a tense silence. Then—

   "Hey, let me go!" She grabbed Harry's arm and shoved him toward the door, ready to turn them all in, but the second she stuck her head out the door she gave a terrified squeak and ducked back inside (and let go of Harry, which is probably a good thing as he had wildly considered kicking her to make her let go of him so he and his friends could make a quick getaway).

   "The janitor is coming!" she hissed. They looked like they wanted to cry, but she just grabbed Harry's arm again (it was starting to hurt) and opened a door in the back of the closet that they hadn't known was there. "Get in here!" she whispered. Before they could even be surprised, they scattered to different hiding spots.

   It was Frank's office, the furnace room. A large, drafty sort of room with the dirty metal furnace looming in one corner, a few student desks piled to the side with names and doodles scratched into them, and a small wooden desk with a few papers on it in underneath the low roof in the center. A small, chipped sink stood in the corner. They waited, agonizingly, crouching uncomfortably.

   They heard Frank wheeling out the janitorial cart squeakily, and shuffling some mops around. After a minute, he yelled in surprise as he stuck on his gloves (Harry and gang had perched them innocently on the edge of the cart once more). The door banged open as he strode in, his hand dripping. He washed it in the sink, his face purple and swelling. Slamming down into his desk chair, he muttered angrily to himself (Harry caught words like "immature" and "disgusting" and "fat ugly git") and pulled a rolled-up piece of paper out of a drawer. He unrolled it and hunched over it, poring over the piece of paper gleefully and muttering triumphantly to himself some more, a strange glint in his eyes. With some satisfaction he rolled it back up five minutes later (Harry vaguely remembered that he was supposed to be back in math class) and stuck it carelessly back into the drawer. Grinning lopsidedly and running his hands through his feathery white hair, he left the room, whispering under his breath, "I've got you now."

   They waited. And waited. Finally, exhaling, they stood up warily from their corners. Looked at each other. Smiled. Giggled. The girl became severe (or tried to, anyway) again. "What makes you think I won't tell on you?" Harry laughed. "Because then you'll get into trouble too. You hid with us too, you know, instead of taking us straight to Principal Shuffleburger's—" he snorted over the name "—Principal Shuffleburger's office." She looked simply furious, but he merely grabbed her arm (none too gently: his was still sore) and pulled her out the door just in time for the lunch bell to ring. 

   Together, they found an empty table and ate ("only because if I don't, you'll all look too guilty, and all of the teachers _know_ I would never break the rules"). For once, Hermione thought as she took a bite of her sandwich, the Maris girls didn't say anything now that she was surrounded by 'friends,' and boys at that. They just stalked by with their noses in the air.

   They ate in companiable silence, until Hermione suddenly said to Harry, "I might as well find out your name if you insist on following me _everywhere._" His friends sniggered and poked him, but he looked surprised and told her. 

   "It's Harry Potter, but I'm registered as Harry Dursley because I live with my aunt and uncle." She looked like she wanted to ask him, but she just said, "Hermione Granger" and solemnly shook his hand. They both giggled.

   _He has a funny sort of birthmark on his forehead, _she thought. _Oh, it's a scar. If you look at it from this angle, it's shaped like a lightning bolt._ And she giggled aloud as she thought, _It looks quite good on him, really._ The boys looked at her strangely, but continued eating, silently inviting her to continue to eat lunch with them. As she swung her schoolbag over her shoulder and brushed her hair out of her face to go to class, she finally felt like she'd made some friends.

A/N: Sorry I made you wait awhile. By the way, I know the names Frank and George put you in mind of Fred and George, as in Fred and George Weasley, but they were the names of two janitors one of my teachers knew when he taught elementary school. *giggle* They always fought, and, yes, my teacher and one of his fellow teachers did put liquid soap in Frank's glove to try and initiate a "holy war" between them. It worked, too, as you'll see (I'll have the janitors pop up every once in a while in the story). So. Whaddya think? I'm not sure why Hermione would feel like she'd made friends, since Harry and gang must seem pretty immature to them, and she must seem pretty infuriating to them. I guess they feel it their duty to lighten her up—they knew there was hope when she actually laughed.

Yeah, I know. I was looking forward to some more icy glares and snaps between Hermione and the boys. Get them to think she's just as insufferable as Ron did, and then.......well, yeah, I guess it was better that they became friends now, or I'd have to make them save her life like the mountain troll scene. Too cliche, so, nevermind. 


End file.
